


Strawberries & Cigarettes

by bluujeanbby



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Cabaret, Film Noir, M/M, also the shamans are the mafia now, haha noir, vince is a dancer and howard is a private eye
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:27:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29853927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluujeanbby/pseuds/bluujeanbby
Summary: "We were put in contact through a mutual acquaintance. They seem to be under the impression you may know something about Mr. Bainbridge's murder."
Relationships: Howard Moon/Vince Noir, a little bit/eventually
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	Strawberries & Cigarettes

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a random, half-baked idea that I wanted to make something out of. Maybe if enough people like this I'll turn it into a real fic?
> 
> Also, for as much of a fan as I am of historical accuracy, I think the film noir aesthetic supersedes any actual 1930s-40s history. Plus I don't wanna bother with period-typical homophobia. So the era this takes place in only matters when I say it does.
> 
> Unbeta'd, as usual.

Howard took a drag off his cigarette and sighed it out, watching the smoke curl out into the air of the dark club. His fingers twitched around the martini he'd been nursing for the past... how long had he been here? Twenty, thirty minutes? He took another puff of tobacco to quell his nerves. He needed this to happen, _god_ did he need this to happen. This was his first real case in far too long, a case that promised to actually pay the bills for once in his damn life. He really didn't want to get evicted again. But if his contact didn't show up soon he may just have to call it a night and head back to the office. Howard really couldn't stand being in places like this for very long, nor did he appreciate someone being half an hour late to an appointment. He raised the glass to his lips and downed the rest of the alcohol, putting out the cigarette in the nearby ashtray. He was about to get up to leave when-

"Detective Moon I presume?" The same voice from the phone call last night chimed behind him. Howard swiveled on the bar stool and was greeted with... well he really didn't know what to make of the person standing before him.

The man - or at least, Howard thought it was a man, though he really wasn't sure anymore - stood a good 5 foot 10 or 11, but with the heels he was wearing he was just as tall as Howard. His black hair was gently curled away from his face, smoky makeup pulling attention to his eyes. Though Howard's gaze was admittedly drawn to the soft looking black lace that clung to the man's torso and peaked out behind the satin robe. Howard blinked and leaned back a tad when the man reached out his hand in greeting.

"Vince Noir. We spoke on the phone. Sorry to keep you waitin', got tied up on the job. You understand." The jeweled ring on Vince's hand caught the light- fake, undoubtedly, but striking none the less. Howard looked from it, to Vince's face, then back again as he squeezed his hand quickly.

"Pleasure. Have a seat." Howard pushed his hand into the pocket of his dress slacks and withdrew his pen and pocket journal. He flipped past grocery lists and the occasional jazz induced scribblings to find a blank page. Vince gathered his robe and sat beside him, scooting his stool a little closer and leaning one elbow on the bar. Howard glanced at him again before clearing his throat to begin his line of questions. "We were put in contact through a mutual acquaintance. They seem to be under the impression you may know something about Mr. Bainbridge's murder." Vince fidget with his hair a little.

"Hard not to know _somethin',_ what with him usually breathin' down our necks all night then suddenly up an' vanishin'." Howard furrowed his brow and swept his eyes around the club.

"Does he work here?"

" _Work_ here? He owns the place! Been gettin' rich off our backs fer years!" Howard perked up and raced his pen across the page. Bainbridge had everyone under the impression he'd grown his wealth through honest business- the stock market or investments or something like that. The public had no idea the guy was running sleazy cabaret joints on the side.

"Did any of you uh... _dancers_ have any complaints about the management? Grievances to air?" Vince snorted and ruffled his hair again.

"Being a _'dancer'_ may not be the life every kid has fantasies about but for most of us 's what keeps a roof over our heads. None of these girls would risk losing a paycheck just for a li'l rush of revenge."

"What about you?"

Vince stopped, cocked his head and pulled a disgusted face. "Look at me. You really think I would risk gettin' blood on me?" Howard narrowed his eyes skeptically but he had to admit- Vince barely looked capable of keeping a secret, let alone carry out a murder plot. Still. Something about the man gave Howard pause.

"Well, did he have any enemies? Business partners he may've argued with?" Vince was already waving his hand dismissively and shrugging.

"All the time. I dunno, he was always ticking off _some_ body. Any one of 'em coulda killed him."

Howard was feeling a little defeated at this point. He tapped the end of his pen on the bar and frowned at Vince. "So what you're telling me is: you have nothing to tell me?" Vince grinned deviously and leaned both arms on the bar.

"You're askin' all the wrong questions. It's not about who he was enemies with- it's about who he was _friends_ with." He flicked his head to the side, motioning for Howard to lean in closer. He did. Vince's shiny lips nearly grazed his ear as he dropped his voice to a whisper. "Dixon Bainbridge was in bed with the Shamans."

Howard jerked back like he'd been burned. Vince ran his tongue over his teeth triumphantly and flagged down the bartender while Howard processed what he'd just heard. The Shamans... the _Shamans?_ The same Shamans who'd been making a name for themselves as the darkest yet strangest mafia ring on this side of the country? What could Bainbridge want with organized crime? Of course, what could Bainbridge want with glorified hookers? The all mighty dollar, Howard guessed. That's what things always seemed to come down to. He frantically noted what Vince had told him and several theories about what it could mean.

"Do you know anything else? Any details, anyone you saw him dealing with directly?" Vince shrugged again. Howard was desperate.

"I saw the short one in blue here a lot. Strictly business too, never saw him buy a dance. Not sure what they deal with specifically but 's gotta be somethin' _big._ Bainbridge never lets anyone anywhere near the office when that guy is creeping about." Howard was taking notes like there was no tomorrow. When he looked up again, Vince was sipping something blended and fruity through a long straw. "Maybe if you come by again sometime you'll get to see him in person. Dunno if anyone's told the Shamans yet about Bainbridge." Howard hesitated. It's true he didn't exactly have a shining reputation, but did he really want to risk being caught spending his evenings at a place like this? Just to- what, confront a crime lord?

"Best not to rush in to things. I think I better ask some of my sources around town." Howard stuffed his journal and pen back into his pocket and gathered his coat to leave. Vince stood quickly and laid a hand on Howard's arm.

"But you'll- you'll keep me updated, right? Y'know, meet up with me or something? I could help! I know loads of people all over." Howard squinted at him again. Something was wrong, something was going on. Why was his man so interested in the case if he presumably despised his employer so much? Vince stepped closer and he wrapped both of his hands around Howard's own. "Please let me help. It'll be genius, I promise."

"Alright..." Howard didn't feel good about this but he figured Vince was going to get what he wanted, one way or another. At least this way Howard could keep an eye on him. Make sure he didn't muck up the case at all, or get hurt if he really was trying to be of assistance. "I'll call you tomorrow. We can meet at my office and figure something out." Vince perked up right away and squeezed Howard's hand, leaning up to kiss him quickly on the cheek before saying something along the lines of 'need to get back to work now, talk to you soon.' Howard, feeling slightly dazed, shuffled back into his coat and left the club.

Strange man. Strange case, he could already tell. But he'd gotten a taste for it now. He just couldn't resist an exciting one like this. It would be just like the old days. Howard sighed, flipped up his collar against the wind, put his head down and started on the long walk back home. He pushed his hands in his trouser pockets and-

Howard whipped around and stared at the club, slack-jawed. His pockets were empty. His journal was gone.

**Author's Note:**

> Am I aware that this is sort of just Mindhorn in black and white? Yes. Yes I am.


End file.
